


How To Care For Your Jedi (or, rex is a total softie).

by kenobisgreentea



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, JEDI SNUGS, M/M, MAYBE mildly ooc characters bc IM WEAK FOR COMFORT, Mild Angst, minor background clone characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 12:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenobisgreentea/pseuds/kenobisgreentea
Summary: Umbara was a disaster, Anakin blames himself, Rex ends up with Jedi snuggles.





	How To Care For Your Jedi (or, rex is a total softie).

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends!
> 
> sorry it's been 276765 years since I posted, but I found this on my computer & wanted to share! i'm weak for clone/jedi snuggles & comfort & fluffy soft things. 
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own anything star wars related, i just like to play with it. 
> 
> unbetaed, but enjoy!

Rex had a problem. A large problem. A problem that involved a General whose overreactions tended to blow up planets. A problem that also involved the god-forsaken mission on Umbara and the subsequent execution of Jedi General Pong Krell by one of his men. Rex resisted the temptation to drag a hand down his face. He had his helmet on, so it wouldn’t have done much anyway, but he had to fight the urge nonetheless.

Rex had survived more battles and faced more enemies than most, but bearing the brunt of his General’s legendary temper was the one thing that made him want to crawl under his bunk. Rumor was, the last time Skywalker had let go of his temper, an entire Separatist fleet was blown to tiny pieces. In Rex’s ~~experience~~ opinion, it wasn’t rumor at all. 

The transport had entered the Coruscant atmosphere several minutes earlier and had arrived at the landing pad, where Skywalker was certain to be waiting. As the transport began the landing sequence, Rex straightened up and turned to the ranks of troopers behind him. 

“Let me handle the General,” he ordered. The troopers exchanged glances, but nodded. Rex’s lips twitched in a grim smile at the obvious anxiety of his battalion. At least his own voice hadn’t cracked and betrayed his own nervousness. 

The little things in life.

Hydraulics hissed and creaked as the transport touched down, and Rex turned back to face the boarding ramp. With a groan, the ramp began lowering, letting the bright Coruscanti sun flood the interior. Sure enough, when Rex had adjusted to the blinding light, the General was waiting on the landing pad. Strangely, instead of standing with his arms sternly behind his back or crossed over his chest, Skywalker was anxiously pacing back and forth, his good hand plucking at the glove that covered his mechanical one. He didn’t look particularly angry, Rex noted, a pinprick of hope igniting. The General had a particular expression of anger—if Rex valued his life any less, he’d call it a straight-up pout, albeit slightly more terrifying—but said pout was absent from the General’s expression. When the ramp touched down with a resounding thud, Skywalker whirled to face the ship, taking several hurried steps closer. Rex stiffly descended the ramp, not sure what to expect, but as soon as he reached the gray duracrete platform, he found himself with an armful of oversized Jedi. Skywalker’s long arms wrapped around Rex’s shoulders, and after a moment of frozen shock, Rex hesitantly patted Skywalker’s back. _The fuck?_

“Um, General?” Rex’s awkward query resulted in the General straightening up and blessedly letting go of Rex, but the Jedi’s face still retained the anxious expression. “501st Legion, reporting in, sir!”

Skywalker managed to rearrange his face into a suitably neutral expression, but Rex knew him too well—his eyes betrayed him. The General was terrified. From the privacy of his helmet, Rex crinkled his brow in confusion. What could the General possibly be afraid of? As if he had heard Rex’s thoughts, Skywalker turned to face the rest of his troops, who had just finished disembarking and forming into their squads, and Rex got his answer. 

Skywalker’s face immediately lost the neutral expression—he had always had problems hiding his emotions, Rex knew—and reassumed the stricken look. 

_“So many dead.”_

If Rex hadn’t been standing right next to his General, he would have missed the soft, anguished words. He cast a surprised glance at Skywalker, trying to figure out this strange situation. 

He had always know his General was not a typical commander, nor a typical Jedi. He laughed more, made rude comments, joked with the men, seemed to enjoy Rex’s company, ignored direct orders, and had a general dislike of any sort of regulation. Rex wasn’t naïve enough to assume the rest of the Jedi were as laid-back or friendly as Skywalker; in fact, many of his brothers served under generals who had little to no respect for the lives of their men. But this? This reaction from Skywalker was completely unexpected.

As Rex continued to muse on this odd situation in a desperate attempt to find a reasonable answer, Skywalker approached the neat lines of troopers. He walked slowly down the front line, his broad shoulders bowed as if the weight of the entire war had suddenly been dropped on him. 

“Take your helmets off.” The quiet command stunned the clones. After a moment of awkward silence, in which Skywalker waited with a surprising amount of patience, the troopers slowly removed their helmets and tucked them under their arms. The General’s face crumpled in an open expression of anguish, again startling his troops, but he continued his slow march. When he reached the spot where Kix, the medic, stood at attention, Skywalker paused. To Rex’s complete astonishment, the General reached out and cradled the side of Kix’s face. 

“Forgive me.” 

A pregnant silence hovered over the troopers. Rex couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. A Jedi, _apologizing_ to a _clone?_ Unheard of. 

Kix maintained his blank expression for all of five seconds before the tears that had threatened the medic since the massacres of Umbara spilled over and his face crumpled. The General caught him easily as he swayed forward under the weight of his grief, Skywalker’s good hand cupping the back of Kix’s head while the mechanical arm slid around the clone’s waist. Kix fisted his hands in the back of Skywalker’s tunic and pressed his face against the General’s neck, apparently ignoring the fact that he was clinging to a Jedi. 

Rex yanked off his own helmet and stared, completely flabbergasted. He noted absently that the entire 501st legion was doing exactly the same thing, but the majority of his incredulity was focused on the exceptionally strange sight of his commanding officer holding his crying medic like he was a child. To further Rex’s shock, Skywalker tucked Kix’s head against his shoulder, whispering to the medic. When the sun reflected off the glistening streaks covering both faces, Rex instantly knew what he repeated over and over.

_“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

After a long moment, Skywalker, still protectively holding Kix to his chest, faced the rest of his troops. “You lost so many brothers,” he said in a soft voice, but Rex knew that every trooper had heard it. “I left you to Krell, and for that, I’m sorry.” His expression turned fierce. “I know you killed him. And I’m proud of that.” Rex drew in a sharp breath at that statement. Proud of them? Proud of them for killing a Jedi general? Proud of them for breaking every regulation, ever? Rex was so focused on wrapping his brain around that sentiment that he almost missed what Skywalker said next. “I believe you acted rightly, and I will defend that with everything I have.” Skywalker’s intense gaze raked over his troops, then caught and held Rex’s. Before the captain could do anything to respond—what would he have done, anyway?—the entire 501st legion crowded around their General and their medic, who was still clutching Skywalker’s tunic. 

By the Force, his General was truly something else. 

 

***

 

Later that evening, when all of the troopers had finally pulled themselves together, washed, eaten, and put themselves to bed, Rex finally had a moment of quiet. He sat on his bunk, slowly stripping off his armor. After the carnage on Umbara, of which the 501st had suffered the heaviest, the entire legion had been granted several days of Coruscant leave with their General. Since Coruscant wasn’t a war zone, the troops had several days of peace, a rarity in their lives. Surprisingly, rather than going out clubbing, the troopers had, to a man, put themselves to bed. It was rare to have the entire legion in the barracks at once, and the sounds of gentle snoring and mumbling brought a slight smile to the captain’s face. 

Rex set his boots aside and began unclasping his leg armor. As captain of the legion, he technically had use of private quarters and a ‘fresher, but he rarely used them, preferring instead to sleep amongst his brothers, listening to both the quiet sleep sounds and the raucous laughter and arguments during the day. It grounded him. 

After he finished removing his armor and stowing it in his footlocker, Rex took a brief shower in the common ‘fresher, slipped on his rarely-used sleep clothes, and attempted to relax enough to go to sleep. After several hours of staring at the bottom of the top bunk, he sat up in frustration and gave up. He swung his legs over the side of his bunk, wincing as his bare feet met the cold metal of the floor. Draping his blanket over his shoulders and ignoring the ridiculous image he knew he presented, he wandered out of the barracks and into the large area that served as the 501st’s leave base. Several tall lights illuminated the base with a surprisingly soft light, serving to make the flash and gleam of the Coruscant night even more striking. Cruisers and speeders raced past in blurs of light, music spilled from the open doors of several of the nearby bars, and the towering buildings of Coruscant’s upper levels gleamed in the dim light filtering up from the lower levels. Rex was mildly surprised to find the breath stolen from his lungs as he craned his neck to stare at the abundance of life. 

A muffled clang from the direction of the hangar attracted his attention, and he picked his way across the base, following the sound. He wasn’t surprised to find Skywalker lying under his fighter with only his boots visible, tools lying haphazardly around him. A nearly-unintelligible curse in Huttese emerged from under the fighter, with a louder clang following the words. Rex hesitated for a moment, then pushed Skywalker’s discarded Jedi tunic aside from where it rested on the nose of the ship. Wrapping his blanket tightly around him, he perched on the nose of the fighter, reasoning that Skywalker wouldn’t mind. Probably. 

“Everything alright, Rex?” Skywalker’s voice was oddly muffled. Rex, accustomed to the Jedi’s uncanny ability to immediately identify him, crossed his legs under him. 

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping, sir?” Rex avoided the question. 

“I could say the same thing to you.” Skywalker scooted out from under the fighter, sat up, and rested his forearms on his bent knees. The General was completely covered in sticky black grease, so much so that his hands and forearms were totally black and his hair had matted together. Rex resisted an exasperated smirk at the sight. Typical Skywalker, always messing around with machines. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” the captain offered. 

Skywalker sighed. “Neither could I.” He paused for a moment, then peered up at Rex. “Tell me about Umbara,” he said quietly. “I want to know what actually happened.”

Rex pressed his lips together, but obliged. As he reluctantly recounted the reckless actions of General Krell and the overwhelming casualties that resulted, Skywalker’s expression grew more and more sorrowful. When Rex finished explaining the arrest and execution of Krell, Skywalker pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes for a long moment. Rex shifted uncomfortably, tugging the blanket protectively around his shoulders. When Skywalker finally looked up at Rex, his face streaked with black and his eyes red-rimmed, the anguish in his face surprised the captain. 

“It’s my fault. It’s my fault so many died.” Rex had always known his General felt more strongly than the other Jedi, but it still stunned him that Skywalker would care so deeply for the clones under his command, let alone blame himself for their deaths. 

“I left them, I left _you_ to deal with Krell yourselves. I’d seen his casualty reports, I knew how many troopers died under his command but I still left.” Skywalker rested his face in his hands again. “So many died because _I wasn’t there._ ” The last words were spoken so quietly that Rex nearly missed them, but the depth of despair in the words shocked him. A profound silence descended on the two men—Skywalker reeling in obvious guilt and Rex frantically searching for something to say or do to reassure the General. 

What were you supposed to say to something like that, anyway? If one of his men was in this situation, Rex wouldn’t have thought twice about pulling them into his arms and holding them until they calmed. But this, this was his commanding officer and Jedi General and Rex was at a complete loss. Rex was pretty fucking certain you weren’t supposed to hug Jedi. At the same time, it didn’t quite surprise him that he’d be the one to get stuck in a situation like this with an emotional trash-heap of a general. When Skywalker didn’t move after a long moment, Rex swallowed hard and chucked posterity out the window. Moving to the ground from his perch on the fighter, Rex sat down next to his General and tentatively placed a hand on Skywalker’s back. Ignoring the sticky grease that immediately stuck to his skin, Rex rubbed hesitant, small circles in the middle of Skywalker’s shoulder blades, and was surprised when the General leaned into the touch. After a desperate scrambling in his brain for any sort of explanation for the General’s odd behavior, Rex landed on a plausible explanation.

He knew Jedi weren’t supposed to form attachments or express any of their emotions—no wonder most of the Jedi looked constipated all the fucking time _—_ so they most likely didn’t receive any sort of comfort from each other, which would explain why Skywalker was pressing into Rex’s touch like he was starving. Skywalker did have his odd relationship with General Kenobi, though, which was probably why those two generals in particular tended to be more relaxed, but Kenobi had been off quelling a Separatist insurgence in the Outer Rim for three months. What with all the touching that Skywalker and Kenobi gave each other when they were together, Skywalker was most likely starved for touch and this new guilt probably wasn’t helping matters at all. 

Reasonable, probably. He definitely wasn't trying to justify the swell of affection and desire to just _touch_  that filled up his chest, nope, no way.

Rex scooted slightly closer to his Jedi and wrapped an arm around Skywalker’s shoulders. The General let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choked-off sob and curled his large frame into Rex, drawing his knees to his chest and twining his greasy fingers in the captain’s loose sleep shirt. Rex glanced down at Skywalker with a fondness that, honestly, didn't surprise him. Once he got past the fact that he had a fucking _Jedi_ in his arms, Rex found that Skywalker reminded him of the shinies that he often consoled after a major battle, right down to the tear-streaked face. 

The captain didn’t know how long he sat there with a quietly sniffling Skywalker pressed into his side, but eventually the General calmed down. When the quiet, choked-off sounds coming from his Jedi slowed, Rex was faced with the problem of how to take the General to his quarters in the Jedi Temple, which was several inconvenient kilometers away. After several moments of contemplation, he discarded all reasonable plans, stood up, and hauled the Jedi to his feet. Tucking Skywalker’s limp arm around his shoulders and wrapping his own arm around the General’s waist, Rex began forcefully marching 200 plus pounds of unresponsive Jedi to the clone barracks. If the way Skywalker’s feet scuffed and head drooped, the emotional turmoil had exhausted him and stripped him of any sort of individual action. He probably hadn’t slept in days either, knowing Skywalker. 

When they reached the barracks, Rex dragged his heavy General inside the private captain’s quarters, blessing the Force for the privacy that his rank afforded them. He almost sat Skywalker down on the bed, then grimaced as he remembered the grease coating Skywalker’s skin like a film. With a sigh that sounded entirely more exasperated than he felt, Rex stripped his General and stuffed him in the small ‘fresher that occupied the corner of the room, switching the spray from sonic to water. When Skywalker mechanically began washing himself off with the mindless movements of a soldier, Rex breathed a sigh of relief. Leaving the ‘fresher door open to keep a careful eye on the Jedi, Rex pulled off his own grease-streaked shirt, tossed it in the corner, and managed to dig up a clean pair of loose pants for the General. He frowned at said pants, trying to identify them. They certainly weren’t his—he was wearing his only pair—but they couldn’t be another clone’s. All the troopers he knew took meticulous care of their few outfits. With a tired mental shrug, he ignored the origin of the pants and set them neatly outside the ‘fresher door, along with a towel and picked up a datapad, settling on the narrow bunk. 

A few minutes later, Rex glanced up at the sound of the shower shutting off and was pleased to see that the General had managed to get himself into the pants provided. Rex set the datapad aside and stood up, manhandling the still-unresponsive Skywalker onto the bunk. He sighed in relief, walked to the door, and stopped. He couldn’t just leave the General by himself half-naked in an unfamiliar room—that wouldn’t end well for _anyone._ After several moments of consideration, he managed to turn Skywalker so that he lay on his side, back pressed up against the wall, leaving a narrow space on the already-small bunk. Rex shook his head at his own disregard of propriety, but slid onto the bunk next to Skywalker. Judging by the General’s deep, even breathing, the Jedi had already fallen asleep, so Rex pulled an _oh well_ face and pressed up against Skywalker’s chest. Skywalker’s bare skin was warm and reassuring against his own, and Rex was surprised to find that he rather liked the feeling. He draped the Jedi’s arm over his own waist and tucked his head against the Jedi’s much broader chest. His lips twitched ruefully (but not quite regretfully)  at the ridiculousness of sharing a bunk with his solidly built commanding officer, but closed his eyes and slid his feet between Skywalker’s. 

 

***

 

Rex’s eyes popped open at the sound of someone banging on the door. He panicked for a moment, wrapped in something warm and unfamiliar, before remembering the events of a few hours ago. He lifted his head slightly and snorted quietly at finding himself draped on top of Skywalker, who had slung an arm around Rex’s lower back. The captain was mildly surprised at discovering that Skywalker had actually remained asleep, and was equally startled at his own ability to relax. 

The banging on the door reminded him of why he had woken up, and he carefully disentangled himself from Skywalker’s arms and padded on bare feet to the door. Sliding it open a crack he was greeted by Fives’ confused face. 

“Captain?”

“Fives.” Rex’s abruptness startled both men. 

“Uh, I just didn’t know where you went. Sir.” Fives stared at Rex. “Why are you in there?”

In response, Rex slid open the door a bit more, allowing Fives a glimpse of Skywalker sprawled on the bunk, still dead to the world. Fives’s eyes widened comically, then he smirked and opened his mouth, no doubt to say something uncomplimentary and sarcastic. Rex silenced him with an upraised finger. 

“Not a damn word," Rex hissed. "He…blames himself for all the deaths.” He paused, uncertain as to how Fives would respond to the obvious fact that Rex had comforted their commanding officer and put him to bed. To his relief, Fives’s expression softened and he gazed at Skywalker with a startling amount of fondness. 

“He’s a good man,” the ARC trooper said quietly. Rex couldn’t help but agree. 

“Let the men have the morning off. Force knows they need it,” the captain said. He paused, squinting at Fives. “It is morning, right?”

Fives rolled his eyes, but nodded. “You got it, Captain.” The ARC trooper saluted smartly, winked at Rex, and strode off. Rex snorted quietly, then closed the door and regarded the man sprawled on his bunk. Sleep had the odd effect of making the General look ten years younger, smoothing the typical fierce scowl from his face and accentuating the gangly length of his limbs—which were haphazardly sprawled across the narrow bunk, eliciting a fond smile from Rex. He considered staying up and beginning work on the no-doubt enormous mountain of battle reports that needed filing, but the looseness of Skywalker’s limbs and the crumpled blankets proved entirely too tempting. Rex mentally berated himself for shirking his duties as he slid in next to Skywalker, but as soon as he tucked himself under the General’s heavy arm, he sighed contentedly. Skywalker made a soft, pleased noise and curled himself around the captain. The Jedi opened one eye sleepily and gave Rex a lazy, lopsided grin, but closed his eyes pointedly before Rex could say anything. _Fuck_. The captain could feel a flush creeping up his throat from the realization that Skywalker was fully aware how they had spent the night. Aware of their… _cuddling. FUCK._

As if sensing Rex’s sudden defensiveness, Skywalker curled his arm around Rex’s shoulders and draped his leg over the captain’s, fitting their bodies tightly together. His lips pressed briefly against the sensitive skin behind Rex’s ear, saying in actions what couldn’t be put into words. Rex felt a rush of warmth flood his body, emanating from the spot where Skywalker had kissed him, relaxing all his muscles and banishing the defensiveness. 

This entire day was proving to be completely fucking weird—and yet, Rex couldn’t find it in himself to complain. 

As Rex drifted off, pressed against Skywalker’s broad chest, he drowsily reminded himself once again of how lucky he was to have a general like Skywalker.


End file.
